


A Family Affair

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel (Supernatural), Adopted Children, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Chef Dean Winchester, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Good Parent John Winchester, Good Parents John Winchester & Mary Winchester, Heartwarming, Holidays, Journalist Mary Winchester, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mary's Past, Mechanic Bobby Singer, Minor Character Death, Police Officer Mary Winchester, Sweet, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Told through Mary's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Mary didn't have the best relationship with Thanksgiving. But like most things over time, it changes.Take a look through Mary's life and see just how she starts out not really caring for the holiday to appreciating it in a new light.





	A Family Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! Wishing all those who celebrate a Happy Thanksgiving! Wanted to get this out day of but like always... PROCRASTINATION! Anyway, hope you enjoy!

            Mary didn’t much care for Thanksgiving, at first. The dull feeling has always existed, beginning early on in her life. When her cousins would visit and she’d laugh and play outside until her mother called her in to help ‘cook’. “Can’t have you dirtying up your nice holiday clothes, Mary,” she would always say, tapping condescendingly on her head, “better you learn now so when you bring a boy over, you can impress him with your food!” Mary didn’t care about basting, seasonings, or the perfect temperatures. What she wanted was to tackle Caleb into the mud before he scored a touchdown, and then rubbing his face in it for laughing at her pink frills.

            It didn’t help that every year her mother would call her in earlier and earlier until finally she stopped going out all together when she hit puberty. “We need all hands on deck,” Deanna said, “and now that you’re older, you can do more than just _watch_.” So she did, with a scowl on her face, glaring at all her _male_ cousins tossing the football around. Even Brett, who Mary knew would have gladly switched places with her in a _heartbeat_.

            The food and preparations didn’t matter to her, only family did. And you shouldn't need a special day to make that happen. Luckily she found a kindred spirit in John. He was more impressed by her aim than he was her cooking. “I could care less if you burn water just by _looking_ at it,” he told her, one night when they were lying in bed together, their first Thanksgiving on the horizon. “We don’t need some big meal. We’ll make do with take-out.”

            She said ‘I love you’ shortly after that.

            For the first few years of their relationship, the holiday was like a record playing at a party: still present, but softly, and in the background. Easy enough to go unnoticed. No one quite paid attention to it, but it was still there.

            Except Dean happened, and then Sam; suddenly Thanksgiving meant something again. And Mary started cooking – although nothing special. She was just thankful her food was edible, _mostly_. One year she ruined the turkey past the point of saving, and they had turkey _sandwiches_ for dinner. “I don’t know how you did that,” John said, he and Mary staring at the charred bird, “it’s like you threw that thing up on the ceiling and hit it with a flamethrower.”

            It was a miracle when Dean managed to make grilled cheese without starting a fire. “You guys make it look so complicated,” he told them, flipping a burger at the age of ten, “but it’s not _too_ hard.”

            Mary didn’t know what to think. “Well, obviously he didn’t get it from _me_ ,” she whispered to John, “this _tastes_ good.”

            Dean was in charge of Thanksgiving by the time he reached high school. For the next four years, their little family shared a traditional meal together.

            But then Dean went away to culinary school. “It won’t be long,” he told them, “I’ll be back before you know it!” Dean was hired right after graduation to work in a restaurant in Chicago. It took some convincing from all of them, but her little boy flew the nest for one final time.

            And then when Sam left for California, the holiday was vanquished once more.

            Or so she thought. Because then, Sam met Eileen, and their family grew.

            Eileen was a lovely girl her son met at a Barnes & Noble, when they both attended an in-store lecture on Celtic Mythology. He was sitting in front of her, blocking her view of the interpreter.

            She tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but has anyone ever told you you’re really tall?” Sam was awestruck. He could barely say a word as Eileen looked at him, expectantly. “I can’t hear,” she explains, pointing at the interpreter, “and I need to see her.” Nodding dumbly, Sam switched places with her. “Thank you.”

            “I was so distracted,” he told Mary later, “I could barely focus on the guest speaker… but I guess that was okay. Because after she and I sat down at the indoor Starbucks and she filled me in on what I missed.”

            Eileen gave Mary her side of the story much later, when they met. “I felt kind of bad,” she said, “I thought I was ruder than I meant. So it was an apology of sorts…”

            Their friends made sure to bring up the story at their wedding.

            And not long after their bliss, Sam and Eileen welcomed their first-born son, Declan Winchester. Mary cried so many tears when they sent her a photo of her first grandson. It was one of the happiest moments in her life.

            Except it brought Thanksgiving back once more.

            Sam called her on a night in September. “We rarely see you, and it’d be a great reason to have you and dad visit,” he said, “You won’t have to worry about _anything_.”

            Mary raised her brow, “Why, is Dean cooking?” She didn’t have to see her son to know he was giving her, what her eldest son affectionately calls, a bitchface.

            “No, I doubt he’ll even be coming this year what with his new restaurant…”

            Dean became a popular chef in his own right, and was kept busy his first few years after culinary school being shipped from restaurant to restaurant by the owner. “It’s getting pretty exhausting, never knowing what my week’s gonna look like,” he confided in her during Sam’s wedding, “but I’ve been talking with my friend, Cas? He says I’ve got the skills to open up my own place and… well, I’m no good with numbers, but he said he’d help me through it all. I think I’m gonna do it.” He did.

            “Anyway,” Sam continued, “Eileen will be handling it. Although, I hope you’re not _too_ partial to turkey. We’ll probably be having _seitan_ since we’re, y’know, _vegetarian_.”

            John complained, but they booked their flight almost immediately. It _was_ nice seeing Sam, Eileen, and Declan, but they could do that anytime. In fact, they were back in Kansas for Christmas. Even Dean managed to sneak away and join them. He found the time for that holiday, and Easter – even Fourth of July; but never Thanksgiving.

            Even when Mary had to make the journey to Sam’s alone.

            John died on a quiet night in April. Mary woke up to find he wasn’t in bed, and started looking for him. She found him asleep on the couch, never to wake. “I think he knew it was his time,” Mary said at the funeral, hands shaking on the podium, “And he didn’t want the first thing I saw to be his lifeless body. I’m just thankful for all the mornings in-between that we shared together…”

            Mary didn’t go to Thanksgiving. She barely left her house the first year; too busy navigating her life like a ship, with no port to come home to, adrift and directionless.

            It was the next Thanksgiving, and she didn’t have a choice. “I bought your ticket already, so you _have_ to come,” Sam had told her, “Dean even said he might find the time to stop by. And the kids miss you. Just the other day, little Brendan signed that he loves his grandma, unprompted.”

            “I highly doubt Brendan did that.”

            “But the guilt’s working, right?”

            She couldn’t let her boys down. Mary packed her bags and flew to her son’s home.

            “Dean called earlier,” he said, “Something came up, he didn’t say much except that he was sorry and he was going to make it up to us.” Mary wasn’t that upset, she had a feeling her oldest wouldn’t be coming. “But, we _do_ have an extra guest.”

            She met Bobby Singer on Thanksgiving. She knew _of_ him for far longer. “He fixed my car up even better than it was before,” Sam said, “And for half the price I paid when I took it to the chain store on the other side of town.” That was only the first story, but the others were few and far between.

            “So,” she asked, after a few glasses of wine, “no other family to celebrate with?” Sam and Eileen were seeing the little ones off to bed, and she was feeling brazen. Bobby was gruff at dinner, giving short answers, all somewhat mysterious.

            Even now, she has to needle his words out of him. “Wife’s dead.”

            “My husband died, too,” she shrugged, sipping on her fifth glass, “Although Sam probably told you about that.”

            “He did.”

            “No children?”

            He flushed at that. “I had a son…” Mary is well familiar with that special ‘ _had_ ’.

            “…I’m sorry.”

            “No, it’s… it’s okay,” Bobby said, even though Mary could tell it wasn’t the truth. He was looking all over Sam’s living room, and his hands were rolling and unrolling his tie. “Daniel died four years ago… out in Afghanistan. Bomb. It was his third tour – I told him to give it up after his second one but he wouldn’t.”

            Mary placed a hand on his shoulder. “You were in the army?”

            “I was a marine.”

            This piqued her interest. “My husband was a marine.” John had signed up right after high school, serving two tours before taking a break. They met in the interim, and didn’t start dating until after his fourth.

            “Your son told me. John Winchester – I hadn’t heard that name in years.”

            “You… you knew John?”

            “Sure, we ran in the same circles, sometimes were in the same unit.” He pulled out a faded picture, of a youngish looking John and another man that must be him. “Told me what happened and… I wish I went to the funeral. When he found out I was doin’ nothin’ today he invited me, said you were gonna come. Figured you might want to see this and… I’m sorry, really, I get a bit personal the more I’ve had to drink.”

            Mary wiped away her tears. “No it’s… it’s okay. Thank you, really.” She tried to hand him back the picture but he didn't take it. Told her to keep it. “I’d feel bad,” she said, “it’s your picture.”

            “Then why don’t you tell me about him,” he offered, “We didn’t stay in touch after he retired… I’d like to hear what happened since.”

            She smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while. “I’d be happy to.”

            They kept in contact after that. They’d email, text, and sometimes called each other. Those were some of Mary’s favorite conversations. At certain points both of them would stop talking, and they’d take comfort in hearing each other’s breathing. Almost as if they were in the same room.   

            Bobby’s friendship helped steer her in a new direction. Gave her the motivation to leave the house and take on the challenges life continued to throw at her. Even to seek out a few new ones.

            “I feel like there’s more I should be doing,” she told him, “It seems like all I’m doing nowadays is going shopping and coming home. _Occasionally_ I might go out with a few friends, but either everyone’s busy or they’re dead.”

            Bobby huffed from the other end. “Well, didn’t you use to do anything?”

            “I worked,” Mary said, smiling, “out in the field, chasing down criminals and solving crimes. But I retired years ago, when I had Sam. I doubt they’d let me join back so easily.”

            “No hobbies?”

            “I used to write, a long time ago…” Mary dreamed she’d make a career out of her writings, way back when she was a teenager. Until her mother ripped her notebook out of her hands and tossed it into the fireplace. Deanna Campbell wanted her daughter to focus on more important things, said that dreams were the playthings of little girls with nothing better to do. ‘ _Jokes on you mom,_ ’ she thought, ‘ _I’m sure you would’ve liked a writer for a daughter more than a police officer._ ’

            A rough clearing of the throat brought her back. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

            “I said that _maybe_ you should pick it up again,” he said, “Or find something to bide your time. Listen, I gotta go…”

            Mary thought about what he said that night, into next morning, and all for the rest of the week. ‘ _I haven’t picked up a pen in years_.  _Who knows if I’ll even be good at it._ ’

            She wasn’t good at it, not at first. But Mary kept at it – writing down ideas and characters from the morning to the afternoon in a little notebook, and then typing it all on the computer. It was coming together slowly, but she still didn’t feel right. Like she did when she was riding in the police cruiser, the sirens blaring, and her partner yelling into the radio.

            Then she saw the ad in the town’s newspaper: _Columnist Wanted_.

            Mary wrote for her college’s newspaper. She took a journalism course for the credits, but enjoyed it. And when the class was over, joined as a reporter to keep getting her fix. ‘ _I don’t know why I stopped_ ,’ she wondered, looking over the job description, ‘ _I had so much fun. I think I still remember…_ ’

            By next week the position was filled. Mary joined the staff at the Lawrence Gazette as their newest columnist. And she loved it. It was the missing piece in her life, and through her job she made tons of new friends.

            Like Chuck, her editor-in-chief. She was always making sure he was taking care of himself – the man had a habit to forget the simplest of things when he was working. She also grew very close to Rowena, who wrote the Horoscopes Section every week. Rowena always had a barbed comment waiting, ready to fire, and Mary enjoyed watching her hit her targets.

            Mary even got to know a few more folks in Lawrence. There was Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse. They met when Mary came to interview her about recent renovations, and became fast friends. And Jody Mills, when she moved to town to become the newest Sheriff; Mary not only asked her questions, but also gave her a few tips on the town.

            But no matter how many new people Mary brought into her life, nothing could come close to replacing John, except one, maybe.

            “So Bobby mentioned you again,” Sam said casually one night during a weekly phone call. Mary rolled her eyes, her youngest son, subtle as always. “You two seem very close for people who only met once…” There was a question he couldn’t ask, and Mary understood why.

            “We’re very good friends,” she said instead.

            Sam didn’t buy it, either. “Sure…”

            Mary sighed. “Sam, Bobby and I are _friends_. Maybe if things were different, or our lives weren’t too firmly established in different places but… we can’t go back and change that. And we wouldn’t. We’re happy where we are now. If that changes… then maybe more will, too.”

            He dropped it, but still invited Bobby to Thanksgiving again the next year, and every year after until the holiday brought more change.

            Which leads her to now.

            Dean surprised all of them in mid-October. “Hey, I know you guys do Thanksgiving in California, but I was wondering… could y’all come up to Illinois? I – I want to host it this year. I’m always missing out because of business and… I miss you all. Please, just think about it?”

            It didn’t require much thought.

            Sam agreed whole-heartedly. “He’s a chef, why wouldn’t we let him cook?” He even told her Bobby bought a plane ticket already, too.

            She smiled to herself. “Of course I’m going to go,” she laughed, “the only reason I celebrate this damned holiday is because of you folks.”

            So on the day of Thanksgiving, Mary paid her cab driver and rolled her suitcase over to her son’s house. It was a large thing, with two stories, a verdant lawn, and a picket fence. “A beautiful place,” he described it, “with a lawn big enough for the kids to run around.”

            Mary figured he meant Sam’s kids, as her son never got around to having any of his own. It hurt to see, as she knew Dean wanted children to raise more than anything. But it came with the job. He didn’t have any time to truly find someone. There were a few – girls Mary thought could overcome his schedule. But all of them lost out. Cassie’s job was just as demanding. Anna wanted Dean to stop pushing himself and cut back. Lisa made him choose between his career and her. When he said he couldn’t, she and her son moved back in with her parents. That hurt Dean the hardest.

            So when she rang the doorbell, she was surprised to see a little boy with a mop of sandy hair answer the door. He grins up at her, one of his front teeth missing. “Hi!”

            “Um… hello?” she says, looking around. Dean's living room is just like she remembers. ‘ _This… this is the right house, right?_ ’

            “Jack!”

            A man comes stalking in, dressed in a white shirt and slacks, and scoops the young boy up. Jack giggles, pressing himself into the man’s neck. He looks at Mary. “I’m sorry, I heard the doorbell but was busy peeling. I hope you didn’t wait long.”

            “No, not at all, but…” she looks him up and down, “I’m pretty sure this is my son’s house.”

            Dean walks in at that, wiping his powdery hands up and down his apron. “Ma!” he says, rushing over to give her a hug. He pulls back, wincing at her white-stained top. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

            “Dean!” Mary says, “It’s okay but, uh… are you going to introduce us?” She glances over at the other two, and he gets the hint.

            Dean moves to the other man’s side, standing close. His arm swings around back, hand drifting close to the hip, only to swing further up and land hesitatingly on a shoulder. “Ma, this is Cas, remember. My _friend_. And this,” he ruffle’s Jack’s hair with his other hand, “is Jack, his son. He and his family are joining us for Thanksgiving.” His smile drops, then. “I… I should have told you, shouldn’t I? I figured –“

            “Dean, it’s okay,” she tells him, “this is your house. We’re guests. Speaking of, has Sam and Eileen arrived yet?”

            “No, but they called a little while ago from O’Hare. Said they’d be driving over soon.”

            “I must have just missed them. He tell you he’s bringing a guest as well?”

            “Oh he’s told me all about _him_ ,” Dean says, winking, “Although I’m sure you can do that yourself.”

            Mary rolls her eyes, shoving him. “Go cook, otherwise I’ll grill you on _your_ love life.” That startles him, and he looks once more at Cas before heading right back into the kitchen.

            Cas steps in, offering her a seat on the couch. “I’m glad to meet you, Mary. Dean has talked very highly of you, but we’ve never had the fortune of meeting.”

            “He’s done the same of you,” she says, smirking, “although he did forget to mention a few things…” Like how attractive he is. She thought he was some scrawny, awkward man in a trench coat. Her son forgot to mention his tanned muscles, the swoop of raven hair, blue eyes and a kind smile. ‘ _Oh to be young again…_ ’

            “Yes, well,” Cas blushes, “I’m sure he had his reasons.” Just then a teenager plods down the stairs. Her blonde hair is pulled back tight in a ponytail, and she’s smoothing out wrinkles on her skirt.

            “Dad,” she says, “Is _this_ better? And be careful because I’m _not_ changing again – oh!” She notices Mary, face reddening.

            Mary waves to her, “Hello.”

            “Claire, you look great. Now come say hello,” Cas motions for her. She passes by Jack, the boy too absorbed in playing with his action figures to look up, and stands beside Cas. “Mary, this is my daughter Claire. Claire, this is Dean’s mother, Mary.”

            “Sorry about that,” she says, shaking Mary’s hand, “I didn’t know anyone had arrived yet.”

            “It’s okay, I’ve been where you are. If I didn’t have to change three times before my mother was pleased she might have had less frown lines.” They all share a polite laugh before Mary looks around the room. “So, Cas, a son… a daughter… will your wife be joining us soon?”

            “That’d be pretty difficult,” Cas chuckles, “For someone to pop out of thin air.”

            Mary raises a brow. “I find it hard to believe at your age no one’s staked a claim in you.”

            Cas rubs a hand at his neck, not meeting her eyes. “Well I wouldn’t say that…”

            “So Claire and Jack?”

            “Claire’s parents were my brother and his wife. Unfortunately they passed after a horrific accident when she was young, and I’ve been caring for her since.” He grabs for Claire’s hand, rubbing small circles into it. The younger girl smiled. “Jack, on the other hand, was the son of a dear friend of mine. She didn’t make it through child birth, so I took him in as well.”

            “Well I’m happy to say Dean _was_ right about you,” Mary says, “a kind man with a big heart. It must not have been easy raising two kids by yourself, especially when you’re helping my son run his restaurant.”

            “I just handle the finances, and I can do that from he – _home_.” He turns towards the kitchen, beaming softly, “And I had help. Dean stepped in whenever he could to help me. He was always there when I needed him, and vice versa.”

            There was something there. Cas and Dean were tiptoeing around something, and Mary’s keen insight was picking up the breadcrumbs. She wanted to ask a question, but soon enough the doorbell was ringing again. Sam and Eileen, the kids, and Bobby were all tumbling in, and greetings were exchanged once more. Mary barely said two words to her grandkids before they were running over to Jack, joining him.

            “I take it they know each other already?” Mary asks Sam.

            “Yeah,” he tells her, “Seems like Cas, Jack, and Claire are always over whenever we visit.”

            “So you knew they’d be here.”

            “I mean I had a feeling they would?” Sam sighs, glancing around before leaning in close, “Dean _spoils_ Cas’s kids. Last time I was here, he had built Jack a tree house in his backyard. And Claire, he’s been teaching her to drive the _Impala_.” He has more he wants to say, but Dean pulls him into a hug, and their conversation is put on hold.

            Even more so when Bobby makes his way over to her, his copper beard somehow more gray than she remembered. “Hey.”

            “Hey, yourself.”

            It’s another hour before dinner is ready.

            Dean calls them all in. Seating is a bit telling. There are two tables, one for the adults while another for kids. Jack and Brendan sit on one side of the foldout while Declan and Claire take the other. She put up a small fuss, but twin glares from Cas and Dean quickly stopped it.

            The table for the adults is fit for a feast. The turkey, already carved, waits for them on a silver platter. It’s surrounded by a bounty of sides from mashed potatoes to cranberry sauce, candied yams and macaroni and cheese. There’s even a smaller platter with some steamed vegetables and seitan. “For Sam because he’s still denying his heritage,” Dean joked. Sam punched him on the arm.

            They took their spots. Dean sat at the head, and while Sam took the seat on Dean’s left, Cas was in the chair to his right. Mary was at a loss, unsure of where to sit. “Here,” Bobby pulled the chair across from Dean, at the other end of the table, out. She gladly took it.

            Especially when it proved to be the best seat in the house.

            The clues start connecting themselves the further through dinner they get. While Dean and Sam chat, Cas dishes out plates and servings. Always filling her son’s plate before his own. They share stories, always giggling, staring at each other too long, and waiting for the other to finish their thoughts. “We thought about expanding,” Dean said, halfway through the meal, “but with Jack, it’d be tough for us to manage _two_ restaurants.” The picture is clear for Mary soon enough.

            “Dean, you really outdid yourself,” Sam says, patting his stomach tiredly.

            Eileen rubs a gentle hand through his hair. “Agreed, we wish you were able to come to all our other Thanksgivings.”

            “It’s a busy life,” Dean shrugs, “’m just glad y’all were more than happy to come here.”

            “We missed you,” Sam tells him, smirking, “And your cooking.” Dean barks out a laugh, slapping Sam on the shoulder. “Seriously, though, it’s somehow better than usual?”

            Dean blushes at the praise. “Wanted to make this special, s’all…”

            Sam rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you cooked like that more often, you’d find somebody, Dean.” Mary watches as Dean and Cas nervously glance at each other, neither laughing.

            Her son starts to stand, “I think maybe it’s time for dessert –“

            “I’ll get that, Dean.” They all turn to stare at Mary, already out of her chair, and moving towards the kitchen.

            “No, Ma –“

            “Nonsense,” she tells him, pushing him back down, “You’ve already done so much. It’s the least I can do.”

            Dean swallows roughly. “There’s… there’s a lot. More than one person to carry.”

            “Cas will help me, won’t you?” She offers a warm smile, the other man sitting ramrod straight in surprise. He shakes out of his stupor after a long beat, agreeing.

            There’s more on Mary’s mind than just dessert.

            Cas leads her to the kitchen, where four different pies are laid out on the counter: cherry, apple, sweet potato, and pumpkin.

            Mary walks past each, slowly, finger trailing the edges of the counter. “So many… you know, Dean usually only bakes this much when he’s nervous.”

            “I… I do.”

            “Although I have no reason to believe why he should be, when it’s just us visiting,” she stops, turning towards the other man, “Do you know, Cas?”

            Cas doesn’t answer. He moves over to the pies, “We should probably bring these out –“

            “How long have you and Dean been seeing each other?”

            He stops, hands hovering over the apple pie. ‘ _Dean’s favorite…_ ’

            “How do you know?”

            “A mother always knows, Cas.”

            “And you…”

            Mary sighs, rubbing a soothing hand across his back. “I want what any mother wants for her kids – to be happy. And Dean looks _very_ happy with you and your kids. Is he?”

            Cas leans into her touch. “Yes, very much so.” He finally looks over at her. “You must have a lot of questions.”

            “I have a right to them.”

            “You do, you do…” He rubs a hand across his jaw, back and forth. “Dean invited you all here because he wanted to tell you all we were together. He and I… it’s been a strange dance. We were two different people back then – a rising star and a man beat down by his numbers. Dean helped me see there was more to life that I was missing, holding myself back from. And when the time came, I paid him back in full. We’ve been through so much together – threats from competitors, partners leaving us, the loss of my brother, my friend… Funny, sometimes you walk through life waiting to meet the _one_ … when in reality they’ve been beside you all along?”

            Mary grins, fighting back the tears. “Sounds like something Dean would do. He can be a bit _oblivious_.”

            “Both of us were… that and _stubborn_ ,” Cas says, “We only got together months ago… but it’s felt like _years_.”

            “I’m glad,” Mary tells him, “That you two found each other. For you and your family, giving Dean the one he’s always wanted. The one he _deserves_.”

            “He _adores_ Claire and Jack,” Cas confesses, “Treats them like his own. We were only dating for two months before we moved in here. It didn’t take much convincing, since half of our things were always here.”

            Mary laughs at that. She pulls away, picking up two of the pies. “So,” she says, “should we get moving? They’re probably wondering…”

            Cas stops her, a hand on her arm. “Before we do, I… I want to tell you something.” She nods, and he starts digging into his pocket. “Dean wanted this night to ease you into our relationship, spill everything out into the open and… I can’t toe the waters anymore. I’m plunging in.” He pulls out a small, velvet box. Inside, a beautiful silver band rests, a small diamond in the middle. “I’m proposing.”

            Mary almost drops the pies. “Are you asking for my permission?”

            He shrugs. “We’re kind of springing everything else on you, last minute. It’s the least I can do.”

            It’s not something she has to think about for long. “Come on then,” she says, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Mary leaves him there, making her way back towards the dining room.

            Mary never much cared for Thanksgiving in the beginning, but she learned to love it. It brought her family closer together, gave her new friends and memories to cherish, and a happier life.

            And Thanksgiving was when Dean said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Did ya like? Let me know! Drop a kudos/comment below!! :)


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